hat night in the Devil's Inn,
A steaming bath of living wine
Poured out for Circe and her swine,
A bath of blood for a harlot
To supple and sleek her skin.

And many a fool that finds it sweet
Through all the years to be,
Crowning a lie with Marlowe's fame,
Will ape the sin, will ape the shame,
Will ape our captain in defeat;
But--not in victory;

Till Art become a leaping-house,
And Death be crowned as Life,
And one wild jest outshine the soul
Of Truth ... O, fool, is this your goal?
You are not our Kit Marlowe,
But the drunkard with the knife;

Not Marlowe, but the Jack-o'-Lent
That lured him o'er the fen!
O, ay, the tavern is in its place,
And the punk's painted smiling face,
But where is our Kit Marlowe
The man, the king of men?

Passion? You kiss the painted mouth,
The hand that clipped his wings,
The hand that into his heart she thrust
And tuned him to her whimpering lust,
And played upon his quivering youth
As a crowder plucks the strings.

But he who dared the thunder-roll,
Whose eagle-wings could soar,
Buffeting down the clouds of night,
To beat against the Light of Light,
That great God-blinded eagle-soul,
We shall not see him, more."

V

THE COMPANION OF A MILE

THWACK! _Thwack_! One early dawn upon our door I heard the bladder of
some motley fool Bouncing, and all the dusk of London shook With bells!
I leapt from bed,--had I forgotten?--I flung my casement wide and craned
my neck Over the painted Mermaid. There he stood, His right leg yellow
and his left leg blue, With jingling cap, a sheep-bell at his tail,
Wielding his eel-skin bladder,--_bang! thwack! bang!_--Catching a
comrade's head with the recoil And skipping away! All Bread Street dimly
burned Like a reflected sky, green, red and white With littered
branches, ferns and hawthorn-clouds; For, round Sir Fool, a frolic
morrice-troop Of players, poets, prentices, mad-cap queans, Robins and
Marians, coloured like the dawn, And sparkling like the greenwood whence
they came With their fresh boughs all dewy from the dark, Clamoured,
_Come down! Come down, and let us in!_ High over these, I suddenly saw
Sir Fool Leap to a sign-board, swing to a conduit-head, And perch there,
gorgeous on the morning sky, Tossing his